When my brother asked me to watch his two spoiled sons for two weeks, I hesitated—but agreed, thinking it would be manageable. The moment they arrived, dragging designer luggage and turning up their noses at our home-cooked meals and my son’s modest laptop, I knew I was in for a nightmare. Every day, they mocked our lifestyle, insulted Adrian, and acted like chores were beneath them. I bit my tongue and counted the days.
On the final morning, they refused to wear seatbelts because it “wrinkled their shirts.” When I insisted, they mocked me, called their dad, and expected him to side with them. To their shock, he didn’t. I cut the engine and stood outside the car. They sat in protest—for 45 minutes—until they realized I meant business. By the time they buckled up, it was too late. They missed their flight. I didn’t say “I told you so”—but oh, I wanted to.
